


Stripped Bare

by Planty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:05:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Planty/pseuds/Planty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never get used to ache of grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stripped Bare

Isaac scrambles to topmost branches of the broad tree outside Danny’s house and waits. The leaves shield him from those below, and if he shuffles  _just so,_ he can’t be seen from the window he’s facing. Danny’s.

Isaac waits, balanced precariously on the branch. He smiles as he hears Danny approaching the house, sucks in a breath as Danny walks up the path and through the front door. Waits.

Isaac watches Danny come into his room and wriggle out of jeans and into comfy, tattered sweats and sweater that he only ever wears when he’s sure he won’t have to be seeing people. Isaac licks his lips hungrily, staring as Danny peels off his shirt.

Suddenly, Danny turns around, staring out of the window with a filthy smirk.

Oops.

Danny strides over, flinging the window open and peers into the tree, “perverted stalker,” he says with a lazy grin.

“Kinky little exhibitionist.”

Isaac crawls through the window and lets Danny drag him in a kiss, “You know,” Danny mumbles as Isaac noses into his neck, “it is kind of nice to have you wait in that tree, in a totally non ‘Kinky Exhibitionist’ way.”

“Is it?”

“Kind of like you’re watching over me like a sexy, wolfy, guardian angel.”

Isaac laughs so hard that Danny flushes red.

“I could still kick you back out that window.”

“You wouldn’t do that to your  _guardian angel,”_ Isaac titters, slithering his arms around Danny’s neck. Danny pouts until Isaac kisses it away.

“Where were you today?” Danny asks, suitably mollified and tugging him to sit on the bed.

“There’s this …  _thingy._ Derek says it’s kinda like a werewolf gone feral. You know that teacher found in the pond?”

“That was the ‘thingy’?”

Isaac nods, nuzzling into Danny’s neck.

“A woman who works with mom found the body – apparently she’s still off work with trauma related distress or something,” Danny grimaces. “You’re not going to do anything stupid are you?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Isaac says loftily, bringing his gaze to Danny’s eyes.

“All I’m saying is that I’m not going to be too sympathetic if you get your asses kicked by some furry ghoulie-ghostie thing because you were all too busy trying to be heroes.”

* * *

 A few days later, as they’re all leaving a pack meeting, Derek finds bloody pigeon corpses scattered throughout his land. Stiles tuts.

“They look like Mr Cleary’s. You know, the guy who wears those golf sweaters all the time? He breeds pigeons.”

“So they’re domesticated?” Danny asks, stooping over a mangled bird.

“Yeah - ”

He grins to himself, which is kinda concerning considering the state that the birds are in. Stiles shuffles uncomfortably, "can you stop smiling like a pyscopath and tell us what's so great?"

“If they're domesticated, then they’ll have – ah! Tags,” Danny indicates a shredded blue ring. “Some owners have them fitted with microchips. If that’s the case, and this wolf thing has eaten the pigeons - ”

“Then he’s probably eaten some microchips too,” Stiles finishes. “You think you can track it?”

Danny looks offended Stiles even asked.

* * *

 “Is that it?” Stiles leans on Danny’s chair, tracing his finger across the laptop screen.

Danny swipes away Stiles greasy fingers, “yep.”

Isaac glances up to Derek and Boyd, who are squinting at the screen, “that’s the skate park.”

Boyd frowns, “there’s probably still gonna be kids out at this time.”

Isaac chews his lips as Danny’s heartbeat pounds. He’s thinking of Joey – Danny’s little brother is only ten, yet the kid has an attitude the size of Jupiter. He’s not great with curfews. Constantly out.

Derek nods curtly, “we’ll have to separate, make sure we trap it.”

Stiles looks up, “I think I still have a bag of ash in the car, I could - ”

“No,” Derek points to Stiles and Danny, “you’re staying here.”

Still rapidly typing, Danny scans around Isaac and Derek’s apartment, frowning, “why do we have to stay here?”

“Because you’re human,” Isaac wraps his arms around Danny, and nuzzles into his neck. It has to be said, Danny really does smell good - there’s a reason Isaac keeps a small mound of his clothes at the apartment, after all.

“So I have to sit pretty here while you’re off getting ripped to pieces?” Danny grumbles, begrudingly letting Isaac kiss at his cheek and jaw.

“Mhmm,” Isaac presses a final peck to his temple, ignoring Stiles’ eye roll. “Text Derek if The Thingy moves from the skate park,” he pulls in close, knowing it’s futile because of the wolves, but realising that Danny just needs comfort, “I’ll make sure Joey is okay.”

“Thanks,” Danny squeezes his hand. “Don’t let your ass get kicked too hard.”

“Because you’ll be using it later?”

Stiles chokes on his drink. Danny groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, “remind me why I love you?” he asks wearily.

* * *

The skate park is near empty. Isaac can sense his pack closing in, taste the apprehension of the skaters as they spy the approaching group. Isaac admits, they must all look pretty menacing as they slowly approach and scent the air for the creature.

Circling for hours takes its toll. Isaac lets his mind wander to that morning. He’d woken up at Danny’s, all tangled up in a cocoon of duvets and each other, so warm and  _close._ Isaac smiles, remembering the kisses and licks and bites he’d laved on Danny’s neck, how they’d gone from sleepy and lazy to frantic and desperate.

Derek’s phone buzzes and breaks Isaac's reverie. It's Stiles.

“We – we couldn’t keep track bu - ” he cries out, “it’s moved,” Stiles gasps, and there’s a rattling in the background, like a door about to be pulled off its hinges. “It’s outside - ”

The sound cuts out.

Derek looks to Jackson, to Boyd, to Isaac.

They run.

* * *

It wasn’t meant to happen.

Isaac was meant to get there quickly. They were supposed to kill the monster. They were supposed to find Danny and Stiles, shaken, but  _alive._ Isaac was supposed to take Danny home and curl up in bed with him , chasing away nightmares with the warm presence of each other.

But.

_But._

Stiles is trembling, his face pale and flecked with blood. He’s wet with a reddish ooze and he  _reeks_ of metallic, coppery tang.

Isaac can smell Danny, too.

But he can’t hear him.

Stiles' heart is pounding as Scott drags him away to safety, Derek circling as if to decide if he wants to stay or follow Stiles. The monster is in a crumpled heap on the floor, staining the carpet with its blood. Its no longer a threat, but the damage has already been done.

Isaac has spent so many hours tracing the ridges of Danny’s spine with his fingers and the firm sinews and lines of his arms and the soft, pliant skin of his face that really, he’s got the feel of Danny down to a T.

But Danny doesn’t feel right.

He’s cold, too cold. And his skin isn’t the smooth expanse Isaac draws patterns on with the pads of his fingers, but torn and jagged. He’s sticky with blood and he’s _not right._

“Danny.”

The whimper falls on deaf ears. Someone reaches for Danny and Isaac snaps them away. He can hear himself whimpering, begging Danny to  _open his eyes._

Eventually, Jackson and Boyd haul him off, ignoring his snarls and the way he digs his claws into their still healing wounds.

Somehow, Isaac breaks free. And he’s sprinting, desperately. They try to chase him, but they know he doesn’t want to be caught, can’t be.

Isaac heads for the tree outside Danny’s house.

* * *

The evening isn’t quite finished as Isaac curls into foliage, he watches the sky, the stars trying to burst out against the blanket of dusk, watches the moon flow, feels the urge to run building again, feels the urge to tear, to howl, to kill.

Isaac stays.

A car pulls up and Isaac huddles further into the branch, twigs and leaves prodding into his back. He watches the Sheriff knock on the door, his back stiff with purpose.

Isaac doesn’t think he wants to hear it. Doesn’t think he could bear it as the Sheriff is invited in. He raises his nose to the tiny slit in Danny’s window and catches the familiar scent. It’s both comforting and nauseating.

The next thing he hears is a long, drawn out sob.

* * *

Isaac stays in the tree all night and through the rest of the day. He hides as Danny’s parents slowly walk from the house the next afternoon, faces gaunt as if dreaming. He knows they haven’t slept at all and have barely eaten.

Joey stays at home. They haven’t told him yet. They’re debating the best way to tell – but he’s a smart kid, and knows something’s up. He’s behaving a little  _too_ well, quieter than Isaac’s ever heard and doesn’t even fight when they tell him old Mrs Barther next door will be babysitting for a little while. It hits Isaac that they must be headed to the morgue. That's Danny's body must've been moved 

“Isaac?”

Isaac glances down to see Scott at the base of the tree. So focussed had Isaac been on the goings on at the Mahealani’s he hadn’t even noticed the arrival. He nods stiffly back.

“You’ve been here all this time?”

Again, Isaac nods.

“You need to come down, man, you need food and sleep.”

Isaac firmly shakes his head.

“Isaac - ”

“Leave me  _alone.”_

Scott leans against the trunk, “you can’t stay up there.”

Isaac falls back into silence.

“I know it’s like – it’s like being near him,” Scott hesitates. “But there’s no – it’s not  _safe_ to stay here. Derek’s been taken in for questioning, since it was his and yours apartment, the Sheriff is looking for you – Stiles is okay, totally shaken but – yeah, he’s told his dad that some cougar thing broke through - his dad seems reluctant to believe it, but it's the only story we've got right now. and it does kind of look that way - ”

Scott’s still talking, but Isaac can’t hear. He’s staring into Danny’s room, at the crumpled sweat pants on the floor, the duvet still rumpled from the last time Danny – the last time  _they’d_ slept there.

Isaac knows why he’s been waiting at the window.

He’s been waiting for it to open.

* * *

Scott leaves, eventually. Isaac stays in the tree, crushing leaves in his hand. He feels sick with grief.

The Mahealanis return, clutching each other. Isaac can hear their stilted movements as they thank Mrs Barther for her time, and they begin to work to a robotic monotony, saying nothing as another day fades into night. Eventually, Joey goes very quiet, and Isaac can hear the squeaky scrape of sneakers squirming on the hardwood floor.

“Where’s Danny?” he asks, voice dimmed in hesitation. The silence is terrible, consuming everything in the room in a pained hush. Eventually, Cecila sighs and her voice raspy with tears, “Joey,” she says softly, “Joey, sweetheart, come sit down. We need to talk.”

Isaac leaves soon after that. He can’t bear to hear any more.

* * *

The Sheriff finds him.

Isaac stutters out something about coming home to find Danny like –  _that._ He says Stiles, Danny and himself were meeting up for a project, Derek was out and that Isaac had gone on a food run. He says he left the door on latch.

When he hears himself talk, he realises, whatever scenario – the fictional one he blurts out from hazily remembered snippets Scott told him, or the truth, the awful reality – whatever scenario, he’s to blame.

His chest burns and his throat tightens. He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to die.

* * *

The tributes are overwhelming and a shrine springs up outside Isaac’s apartment. There are photos, candles, balloons, cards – someone’s taken Danny’s Lacrosse shirt and scrawled messages over it. Lydia arranges the flowers being handed to her, sorting the roses and lilies and the links of leis into a stunning burst of colour. It’s elegant and beautiful and it’s obviously her way of saying goodbye.

* * *

His parents ask Isaac to be a pall bearer.

As much as it terrifies him, Isaac agrees.

And the funeral is surreal.

As soon as he arrives Erica tugs him into a fierce hug. It’s uncomfortable and he nearly chokes on her perfume and there’s hair poking into his mouth and her nails dig into him.

 It’s just what he needed.

“You’re okay,” she says, and it sounds more like a command. “You’re okay,” she repeats with a gentler tone.

Stiles keeps glancing at him with soft, encouraging smiles, his leg jiggling throughout the entire thing. There are stitches laced up his face and one arm is heavy in plaster. Isaac sickens himself in wishing it was Stiles who’d died. 

Derek lurks, but keeps a respectful distance. He knows what it’s like to lose someone – but so does Stiles – but Isaac already  _has,_  it's not fair _–_ he –

He can’t do this.

Boyd was also a pall bearer. As they take their seats, he gently squeezes Isaac on the shoulder, almost guiding him towards the chair.

The service is strange. Isaac doesn’t feel like he’s quite there. There are so,  _so_ many people around him, Danny’s family and friends all crushed together, crying softly as poems are read and they talk about memories and celebrating the life of such a wonderful person – and  _god,_ Isaac can’t hear a single thing, because it’s so dreamlike and terrifyingly real at the same time.

The Lacrosse team are mostly huddled together, some blinking rapidly as if to hold back tears, some openly crying.

Mrs Mahealani sits at the front, clutching Joey as if he were her only lifeline. Mr Mahealani stares on, and on, and on, gazing into nothing, his eyes looking dull and unfocussed. The smell of flowers is overwhelming and it’s not until Boyd is dragging him along does Isaac realise it’s time to go to the Mahealani’s.

“Go on,” he hears himself say. “I want to stay for a little while.”

Erica and Boyd glance at each other.

“ _Please.”_

They leave, Erica muttering a quick ‘call if you need us’.

Isaac isn’t alone. He can sense somebody else. The others wolves must have also noticed, but were too tactful to point it out.

Throughout the service, Jackson wasn’t visible, but his scent lingered through the windswept trees.

Isaac waits.

There are men waiting to dump soil over the open grave. They glance peevishly over to Isaac.

Isaac still waits.

Eventually, Jackson strides over to the grave – almost spittingwith anger. He look like he’s going to scream, tear up the earth with his bare hands, kick and scratch and swear.

Instead, he settles down and starts talking.

“Come on, man,” he says with a cracked laugh, “I came back. Why can’t you?”

Isaac could probably hear the rest if he tried, but he doesn’t want to. It would feel like intruding.

* * *

The Mahealani house is, strangely, filled with laughter.

Relatives are taking photos from the wall and mantle, reminiscing about the moments caught in them. Plates of food are passed over people’s heads, people switch from formal to casual, people make jokes, people behave  _normally._

Isaac can hear someone in Danny’s room and it’s the closest he’s come to losing it.How dare they? How  _dare_ they?

He slips, unnoticed, upstairs and follows the familiar path to Danny’s room. His scent is so thick and so soothing that Isaac wants to cry. He doesn’t think he can, though. He doesn’t think he’s been able to throughout this whole thing.

“Mrs Mahealani?”

Isaac’s voice is dry with disuse. Mrs Mahealani jumps, lifting her head from the blanket she was cradling.

“Isaac,” she says with watery smile, “you should be downstairs.”

“I couldn’t be around - ”

“ – people?”

Isaac nods. Mrs Mahealani hiccups and laughs shrilly.

“They’re laughing. Talking. Pretending there’s something to be happy about,” she clutches at her dress, “do you know why I asked you to wear white? Family tradition – custom. Funerals are meant to be a celebration of the deceased’s life, but he never got much of a life, did he? Seventeen.  _Seventeen.”_

Isaac doesn't know what to say, so he settles for the truth, “there’s a lot to celebrate. People love him.”

“You can’t  _not_ love him,” she wipes a tear, “I know, I’m saying that as his mother, but he is – was - … is? Charming. Sweet. Would do anything for anyone. He was the quietest baby, and I’d fret myself sometimes with how unusually quiet he'd be – he’d never cry. Never have temper tantrums, he’d just watch life go by with this beautiful,  _beautiful_ smile. When he was a little boy, I couldn’t stop taking pictures of him with his dimples and wide eyes and – and – and - ” she hangs her head low, and the noise from downstairs overtakes them. Isaac loses himself in the lull of their chatter, their talking a faint distraction.

“Danny loved you so much.”

Mrs Mahealani’s words were sudden. Isaac ducks his head, “I know,” he mumbles to the stripped wood floor, it was kind of like she was both accusing him for stealing her son away in those last few moments and offering him comfort. He doesn't want to know if she blames him. Doesn't want that confirmation from someone else that it's his fault

Through the hazed stream of thought, Isaac spies Danny’s sweater.

“Can I keep this?” he says without really thinking about it. The fabric is soft and familiar in his hand, and it feels to personal to be asking of Mrs Mahealani – but she smiles like she understands.

“Of course.”

Isaac looks to the blanket she's clutching and remembers Danny dragging it from his drawer one night, saying it's been around for along as he can remember and that he's never had the heart to throw it away. Isaac had teased him mercilessly for still keeping a 'blankie'.

Now Isaac just wishes he could take those moments back, turn everything around. Not to tease Danny, but cover him him kisses, tell him everything, tell him how brilliant he is, how loved. 

Mrs Mahealani straightens and brushes her dress down, “I should get back to my guests,” she clears her throat, “get back to – back to Joey.”

Isaac nods, toying with the sweater and watching her leave. As soon as she does, he bounds for the bed, revelling in the scent of him and Danny, remembering  _everything_ they’d done there. Settling into the folds of the duvet, he brings the sweater to his face and inhales.

The scent is heavenly. Isaac wants to grab it from the air, hold it to his chest, bottle it, smear it on him, drink it, live off it. 

He can’t.

He  _can’t._

It’s then, grief aching through him, to his bones, that Isaac feels himself break and begin to cry.  


End file.
